Five Times Tony Stark Woke Up In The Wong Person's Bed
by Trickster-Prophet
Summary: ...And One Time He Didn't. - Tony keeps waking up people's beds.
1. Bruce

The first thing Tony realised when he opened his eyes was that he most certainly wasn't in his own bed. For a start, these sheets were definitely cotton, and his were silk. For another thing, there was someone in the bed next to him. The someone was as naked as he was, had his back to him, and has a mop on untidy brown hair.

It didn't take a genius to figure it all out.

Tony lay still, trying to remember the detail of the night before. He recalled himself and Bruce working in the lab, finally finishing that project and somewhere in the mess of excitement and elation, kissing him on the mouth, and Bruce kissing him back, hot and needy.

They'd pulled apart, and Tony had been prepared to brush it off, but he had seen something inn Bruce's eyes, a desperate, longing want and had pulled the other genius back in, kissing him again. They'd ended up in Bruce's bedroom after that, his being closer.

Tony sighed softly. This wasn't the worst of his choices, but he was already regretting it. What would he say to Bruce? This was gonna be awkward.

Tony thought about leaving Bruce to sleep, just putting on his clothes and walking out the door as if nothing had happened, but then Bruce stirred and rolled over, opening his eyes. For a moment, he seemed confused, then an expression bordering on panic filled his face.

"Good morning…" Tony said, smiling lazily.

"uh…morning…" Bruce replied cautiously, looked decidedly awkward.

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**A/N: The chapters is this fic are super-short, because- just because. **


	2. Clint

"Owwww…" Tony complained, rubbing his head. He looked around the room. Once again, it wasn't his. Ugh, why did he keep doing this? This room was plain and airy, sparse even. There was a photo frame on the nightstand, but it was turned away from him and he couldn't see who was in the picture. Grimacing, he got out of bed and searched for his clothes.

He found his shirt near the door, his pants on a chair and his shoes in the middle of the rug. After pulling on his pants and shirt, he made to leave the room. A grumble from the bed made him turn back.

Clint Barton looked up at him, hair a mess, eyes bleary, naked.

"Seriously, you're sneaking out? Aren't you a bit past that?" Clint complained.

Tony froze, one foot raised, hand almost on the door handle. Clint beckoned him back, and Tony put down his shoes and pulled off his shirt, returning cautiously to the bed. Clint reached up and pulled him down next to him, pushing irritatedly at Tony's pants.

"Not fair that you get pants." Clint muttered, finally getting rid of the bothersome clothing.

Tony lay down next to him, and Clint crawled up until he was practically sitting on his chest. He smirked down at Tony, and licked his lips.

"Why do I get the feeling you have less than honorable intentions?" Tony asked as Clint ran a hnd down Tony's chest.

"Why ever would you assume that?" Clint grinned.


	3. Thor

Something's draped over him. Something warm and heavy. He pokes it, not brave enough to open his eyes yet. He knows if he does, he probably won't like what he finds.

It feels like an arm.

Tony cracks open one eye, looking at the offending something with dubious caution. It is an arm. He shuts his eye again, not sure he wants to know who the arm belongs to, and how they ended up in bed together. Remaining still, he checks what he can of the situation. He's not wearing a shirt, but seems to still have his pyjama pants on, which is always a good sign. He can't feel any of the signs that suggest he's been having sex with anyone, which he takes as a positive. Maybe.

The arm on top of him shifts, and Tony wonders suddenly – with a cold thrill of anxiety – that he doesn't know a) who is in his bed, or b) where this someone's other arm happens to be. This worries him immensely.

There's nothing for it, he has to open his eyes and face the facts.

He opens both eyes this time, quickly, not wanting to come to terms with it gradually. What he sees gives him the fright of his life.  
There's a face, leaning in, close to his, blue eyes wide and curious. Tony shifts backwards across the bed that isn't his and glares at Thor.

"I'm in your bed." He says, confused and stating the obvious, "Why am I in your bed?"

"I was considering asking you the same question." Thor replies.


	4. Natasha

The next time that he wakes up in a bed that isn't his. He thinks for a seconds he's alone. Then he feels the way the mattress dips lightly next to him and realises that there is someone in his space, or rather, he's in theirs.

Tony takes a moment, not opening his eyes, wondering where he is. The sheets are smooth and soft, but not fancy or expensive like he's used to. He can tell it's a woman's room, there something about it, perhaps the smell of it, that makes him so sure. Sound is the next thing he senses, and the first thing he can hear confuses him greatly.

Scrape, scrape, scrape…pause, scrape, scrape, scrape…

The scraping noise continues, sounding disturbingly like metal on metal, and Tony forces himself to open his eyes. What he sees…well, he's starting to wonder if he should even be surprised about this type of thing.

Natasha is sitting up in the double bed, leaning against the headboard. She's wearing a pair of white pyjama shorts and a black T-shirt with the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on the front, and her long legs are stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed gracefully, feet bare. Her hair was pulled back into an untidy ponytail, and she had a knife and whetstone in her clearly capable hands, which appeared to be the source of the scraping.

"Oh, good, you're awake." She said coolly when she registered that he'd opened his eyes.

Tony sat up slowly, "Do you always have weapons in bed, or is that just because it's me?" He asked.

For a moment, he thought he saw a smile flicker over her face, but it was gone too fast for him to tell.


	5. Loki

His face hurts.

That being said, all of him hurts a bit. Tony stretches, not opening his eyes yet. He's feels warm though, like he's lying in the sun. He opens an eye. He IS lying in the sun. The sunlight is streaming in through the window of a room he is sure is somewhere within the Tower, though he doesn't actually recognise it.

He can hear the shower running somewhere nearby, and he sits up in a bed that might have been his for the richness of the sheets, but they're the wrong colour and possibly slightly silkier than his. The sheets are dark green. Tony flops backwards onto the bed, starting to get an idea of whose bed this actually is.

"Hello?" he asks, slipping out of the bed and walking towards the bathroom and the sound of the shower. No reply. He turns and looks back around the room, realising now that he's completely naked. Not that it bothers him. He's rather at ease with his own form.

The room is tastefully decorated in colours that tend towards dark green and black, with hints of gold here and there. Yep, he knows exactly whose room this is. Great.

Tony catches his reflection in the mirror. There's a large bruise on his cheek that he's sure wasn't there yesterday evening. He touches it gently and it hurts a little. He wonders idly how it came to be there, and then looks around the room for clues.

The handcuffs still locked to the ironwork bedframe and the riding crop next on the end table jog the memories nicely. And they also tell him for sure who is in the shower.

Loki.

Tony contemplates his chances of leaving before the trickster god leaves the bathroom. The shower turns off. Tony looks around frantically for his clothes and finds them. He drags on last night trousers and shirt and leaves the room before Loki can finish up in the bathroom.

Probably for the best.


	6. Steve

This time when he wakes he is positive he's in his own bed. The sheets feel right, smooth and silky against his bare skin and the sunlight he can feel warming his shoulder and arm is coming from the right angle for it to be his room. What concerns him is the slight shift he feels in the mattress next to him and the cool hand that presses against his forehead and nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

"Well, you're not feverish, which is a good sign." Says a chillingly familiar voice from just outside his field of vision, "How does your head feel?"

It's then that he realises that's he's hung-over. Again. And while this time he might be in his own bed, he appears to sharing it with Captain America. Great.

"Ugh." He mutters by way of reply to Steve's question, pulling a pillow over his face and using the brief reprieve to do a quick self-inventory. He doesn't feel like he's been having sex, and other than the usual pounding head ache that always accompanied his more spectacular hangovers, he seemed fine. Okay, so, it was unlikely he and Steve had had sex the previous night – and some part of his brain was disappointed at that because hey, Steve was hot, single and _right there_ – so what exactly had happened?

"You were drunk." Steve says, lifting the pillow off Tony's face gently, and only then did Tony realise that he'd said that last bit aloud, "I carried you back here and stayed to keep an eye on you." He shrugged.

Tony felt like rolling his eyes. He'd unknowingly had Steve either in or around his bed last night and hadn't made a move on him.

"Damnit." He mutters crossly, throwing an arm over his face since Steve had taken his pillow.

"What?" Steve asks, and Tony can imagine the expression on the other man's face.

Then, Tony does what he's been waiting to do – _wanting _to do – for months now, he leans up and kisses Steve squarely on the mouth, ignoring the other's surprised sound just for a moment, in case it was the last time he felt those lips against his.

He pulls back after only a moment, looking up at Steve, curious to see what he'll do. He expects Steve to blush and fumble or to wipe his mouth on his sleeve in disgust and start lecturing Tony on correct behaviour. What he doesn't expect is what Steve does next – leans down over his and kisses him back, all rough need and warm lips.

Tony feels like he could spend forever kissing Steve, just to feel the exact shape and pressure of those lips against his and when he presses his tongue against them the warmth and slick of Steve's mouth behind. And the sounds. Tony does his best to memorise the sounds Steve makes, the little gasps that sound almost surprised and when their lips part for a brief moment to draw in more air the soft whisper of "Tony."

Tony knows he would fight against any monster, no matter how horrible, to hear Steve say his name like that even once more. Breathlessly, he tells Steve this and Steve laughs gently and then gasps out Tony's name again, startled and breathless when Tony's teeth find his neck and bite down, gently but with an edge of just the right amount of pain.

"Stark!" Clint bangs on Tony's door irritably. He's trying to sleep in goddamnit, and Stark and whoever he's picked up this time won't shut the hell up. There's not response from Tony's room and Clint sighs, padding back towards his own room, tempted for a moment to make a detour to Natasha's room until she gets out of bed and hangs out with him or something. But then he recalls last time he tried to wake her up early while on leave and winces – the bruises lasted for nearly 2 weeks – continuing down the corridor.

Returning to his room and flopping back into bed, Clint wonders idly who Tony was having so much fun with. It obviously isn't Clint himself, and Clint knows it isn't Natasha either, and he knows she's already deemed that one night as a mistake. Thor is taking Loki back to Asgard and won't be back for another few days and Bruce is visiting India again. Which only leaves….

"Holy shit." Clint cusses despite himself, sitting up very fast, "Jarvis?"

"Yes?" The AI answers promptly.

"Who is in Stark's bedroom with him?" Clint is already anticipating the answer, reaching for his phone as Jarvis answers with,

"Captain Rogers is in Mr. Stark's bedroom, Agent Barton. They seem to be quite enjoying themselves."

Clint has stopped listening, he's already got his phone out, testing frantically.

CODA

Agent Coulson is in the middle of a very important breakfast-meeting when his phone makes the annoying bird-of-prey screech that Clint has programmed in as his personal text tone and convinced Stark to make it permanent.

Coulson apologises and pulls the phone from his pants pocket, only to have to work very hard not to sigh and roll his eyes. Sure enough, the text was from Clint, and read simply: I think Tony got the D.

Coulson rolls his eyes and texts back: Again? Which this time?

It's only a moment before his phone screeches again, and with a muter of 'important business' he opens the new message, and abruptly has to fake a coughing fit to disguise the fact that he is spluttering in a mix out outrage and incredulity.

Clint's reply reads simply: The Star Spangled D.

Coulson excuses himself from the meeting, ignoring Director Fury's wrathful mutterings and considers texting Clint back. He doesn't have to, as it turns out, as yet another screech emanates from his pocket.

C: Sir, are you alright? What are you doing?

Phil smiles and texts back: Going to warn a genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist exactly what will happen to him if he breaks the heart of Captain America.

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**A/N: And that's that then. Not sure what I'll do next. Procrastinate writing something else maybe? **

**Oh, and before I forget, a BIG thanks to Aurelie (NowImJustSomebodyThat) for not only providing brilliant comments on all the chapters, making me laugh and motivating me when I was ready to ignore this fic for another month but also for coming up with the Star Spangled D text conversation idea and letting me use it. Sorry I kind of changed it, I thought this was perhaps more amusing and slightly more in character (although not by much!) much thanks and many hugs to you!**


End file.
